


Desmond in a Jam

by Detective_Mew_Dia



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Azran Legacy, Azran Legacy Spoilers, I’m sorry, Joke Fic, M/M, Miracle Mask, Post-Azran Legacy, Post-Miracle Mask, this took me like five seconds to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 20:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detective_Mew_Dia/pseuds/Detective_Mew_Dia
Summary: Desmond and Randall’s date does not go well





	Desmond in a Jam

**Author's Note:**

> This is a joke fic please don’t take it seriously  
> I just needed a warm-up before getting back to work on my other fic, please dont murder me for not working on it lately haha~ Life’s been rough
> 
> Anyway, I really like Macintosh

“Randall,” Professor Sycamore rose from the bench a little too eagerly, hand outstretched, as he spotted the redhead making his way to their meeting spot in front of Monte d’Or’s art gallery, “Randall Ascot, I presume?”

“You presume correctly. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor Sycamore.” Randall grinned as he shook Sycamore’s hand.

“The pleasure is all mine. Shall we?” Professor Sycamore indicated towards the entrance with one hand and placed the other firmly on Randall’s back. 

Although, he’d done his best not to admit it, after a few months of sharing a hotel room with him, and a few drunken shenanigans, Jean Descole had wound up with a soft spot for the Masked Gentleman. The man’s passion and flair for the dramatic seemed to be a fated match to his own. If only Randall Ascot weren’t such a goddamn imbecile. It was through Randall’s adoration for archeology that Desmond was able to arrange a meeting and a second chance for himself.

“Would you mind telling your story once more? I want to hear about the boy lost to the ruins of Akbadain in his own words.” Sycamore took out his pen and notepad as they walked the gallery. 

“If you think it’d help advance your study the field of archeology, I’d tell it fifty times over. I’m a great fan of your work.” Randall began. 

Desmond listened enough to jot down a handful of notes, but mostly watched as Randall thrust excitedly into his tale, eyes alight and gesturing with full determination. Every few minutes Randall glanced over to make sure Sycamore was listening. In those moments the professor quickly found his pen and notepad absolutely intriguing. 

“This should help with my research on the Azran quite nicely. Thank you, Mr. Ascot. Although, retelling such a traumatic chapter of your life must be an awful burden to you, care if I treat you for your troubles?” Desmond’s hand once again found the small of Randall’s back as he smiled. 

“What did you have in mind?” Randall winked back. 

“As I recall, you have a fondness for the restaurant down by the casino, so I have a reservation for two booked forty-five minutes from now.” 

“Perfect.” 

***

“I swear I feel like we’ve met before!” Randall laughs as they clinked their wine glasses together. 

“As nonsensical as that sounds, the feeling is mutual.” Desmond took a sip. 

“Remember the time we got so drunk off this exact wine in the hotel room that we tried playing spin the bottle with just the two of us?” Randall leaned in close as he could with the table between them and grinned. 

“What was my tell? Certainly not the wine alone.” 

“You’ve been so obvious I thought you were actually trying to lead me to your secret,” Randall scoffed, “Back at the art gallery you remembered I liked this restaurant, but how could you remember if we’d never met before? The first and last time I visited this establishment was with a man named Jean Descole.” 

“Brilliant puzzle solving, Ascot.” A slow clap joined the ambience in the restaurant. 

“I’ll have you arrested for what you’ve done.” Randall rose from his seat, wine glass in hand.

“I didn’t actually want to bury the city in sand, you ignoramus. If you were such a brilliant puzzle solver than you would not have forgotten that I, too, was trapped within the walls as sand closed in around us. It was merely a ruse to acquire the mask, and to uncover the secret of the Azran. How were you planning to escape your fate, had we actually buried the city?” 

Randall paused before changing the subject, “What do you want from me, Descole?” 

Professor Sycamore turned his gaze to the left, unable to admit he wanted a second chance. 

Randall threw his wine onto Sycamore’s suit. People stared. The restaurant fell silent.

“Why you—!” Sycamore stood and threw off his jacket, then rolled up his sleeves. 

“STOP!” A man in round glasses and a brown hat tripped onto the scene, breathing heavily. 

“Macintosh?” Sycamore blinked.

“I’ve come for a chance to confess my feelings and win your heart! I’ll fight for it!” Macintosh balled up his fists and glared at Randall.

“Excuse me? What on earth are you talking about? How did you find me?”

“All the times we met around the world, they can’t be meaningless! I can’t let your date sweep you away without ever even trying!” Macintosh took a clumsy swing at Randall. 

“Hey, now,” Randall ducked, “I think you’ve got the wrong idea.” 

As a graceless fight between Macintosh and Randall broke out, Desmond attempted to slip away unnoticed, just to be grabbed by the ankle and fall flat into another couple’s table. 

“You won’t get away that easily!” Randall had fallen to the floor in the scuffle, just in time to catch Sycamore. 

“Oof, pardon the intrusion.” Sycamore tried to remain composed and apologize to the couple before being full-on dragged into the fight. 

“I won’t let you hurt the professor!” 

By the time the three had acquired horribly wrong objects with which to attempt to fence with (a chair leg, a butterknife, and a candlestick) the Monte d’Or police force had been called and dispatched. Randall’s glasses had been stepped on. Macintosh’s hat had ended up in a bowl of soup. Desmond had lost his pants somewhere in the struggle and in his desperation to make an escape, he nabbed a salt shaker from a nearby table and tossed salt into Randall’s eyes, then made an impossible leap towards the upstairs balcony. He caught it just by the ledge and scrambled up to stand dramatically in front of the open window, in his underwear and with jam in his hair. 

“My job here is done.”

“But you didn’t do anything!” Randall shouted back, still rubbing his eyes, before Macintosh tackled him again.


End file.
